Changing Filters
by element78
Summary: AU, Parallax 'verse. Cas is sick and Dean has the dubious honor of looking after him.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: A sort of catch-all for drabbles relating to my AU fic, Parallax. One doesn't need to read that in order to read this, although everything will make considerably more sense if you do. If you have a suggestion or request, hit me up with it and I'll see what I can do.

This first one is not so drabble-ish. I blame Balthazar.

Summary: Cas turns 30, reluctantly. Warnings for, well, nothing, except hints of Cas/Balthazar. This started out an attempt to explain Gabriel's car and… mutated. Set the Thanksgiving before Parallax begins.

* * *

><p>There are several problems with Castiel's birthday.<p>

First and foremost, it's in late November, which is just generally a horrible time for a birthday. The weather starts getting nasty around then, and there's the whole Thanksgiving mess- he can't count the times he's been told he's getting his presents a few days late, so people can take advantage of Black Friday sales . And, of course, that's right when the college students stop celebrating the beginning of football season and start settling in to do some serious cheering, which naturally makes bars and restaurants, or any establishment with a television set, a dangerous place to be.

The second problem is, it came about two years too late. He's the only younger sibling Gabriel has, and so has somehow become his special project. As much as he really does love his brother, when November 23rd rolls around, Cas starts looking for places to hide.

Gabriel is firmly of the belief that every birthday is to be celebrated as if it's the last, because it might be. He'd made Cas' twenty-first a memorable one- or not, depending on your definition of 'memorable', as Cas certainly doesn't remember it. On the other hand, he has been assured by multiple people that the tattoo is small enough to be tasteful, and actually looks pretty good.

The final problem is that he's had too many of them. He decides this when someone sends him an e-card and he finds himself staring at the great big 30 on his computer screen.

Which is probably why, after almost a decade of doing the smart thing, he calls Gabriel and asks which is the best bar in town.

* * *

><p>It's noisy, of course, and crowded, and KU is playing that night so Cas can't hear himself think over the screaming and the cheering as the Jayhawks score their third field goal of the quarter. It doesn't matter much anyways, as Gabriel does something to mortally offend the busty blond bartender and ends up wearing his third beer.<p>

Bar Number Two is slightly out of town, so the screaming fans are locals instead of students. The bartender is male, youngish and attractive. Cas is contemplating making a serious go at securing a phone number when the ref gives a call that the audience disagrees with, and one man puts his glass through the television screen and another puts his fist through the first man's face.

Bar Number Three, Cas switches to scotch.

* * *

><p>He wakes up smelling like sex, which is never a good sign when accompanied by a hangover this bad. He groans and tries to say something, then stops when he hears his voice- even rougher than normal, which makes sense because he gets pretty damn vocal when he's drunk.<p>

"Nothing like the sound of whimpering in the morning," a familiar voice says dryly from somewhere above him. He lifts his head a little from the pillow he'd been trying to smother himself with.

"Balthazar?" he asks, and when he gets a hum of agreement, lets out a sigh. "Thank God."

Balthazar barks out a short laugh. "Well, I have to say, I haven't heard that one before." There's a dip in the bed as Balthazar settles next to him. The blanket is peeled off his back and he feels a kiss pressed against the base of his neck.

"While I would love to stay and take advantage of your.. more coherent, shall we say, frame of mind, I have a conference to get to."

Cas blinks and frowns into his pillow. After a moment's consideration he levers himself onto his elbows and looks at Balthazar.

He's the head of the theater department at KU, which makes him an invaluable asset, directing some of the more open-minded students in Cas' direction as models and offering his services as makeup artist. They'd been roommates in college, where the very first day, Balthazar had cheerfully offered Cas casual, no-strings-attached sex whenever he wanted it. Cas has taken him up on it a few times over the years. Better Balthazar, whom he knows and mostly trusts, than some random stranger.

"I thought that conference thing was on Thanksgiving," he says, and winces again at his own voice. It somehow seems rude to ask exactly how many times they'd gone at it last night, but the answer is obviously multiple times, for his voice to be this bad.

Balthazar freezes in the act of putting on a suit jacket over his t-shirt. After a moment he completes the motion, tugging briskly on the sleeves and running his palms down his sides.

"On the other hand, it is considered fashionable to arrive late to these things, and something tells me I don't want to miss this."

"Where's Gabriel?" Cas asks, brain still not functioning up to speed. Something is insisting that he should be panicking right about now, but he hasn't yet figured out why.

"Room 418, just down the hall," Balthazar says.

"We're in a hotel?"

"Oh, even better. We're in Kansas City."

"Kansas-" And there it is, the panic, because it's _Thanksgiving_ and he's in _Kansas City_ and Rachel is going to mount his head on a sharp pointy stick. He said he'd be there at noon to help her get ready, and it's-

He pauses in the middle of scrambling for his clothes and spares a glance at the clock, feels his face lose what little blood it had left. Eleven-thirty.

"I hope last night was good for you," he says to Balthazar. "Because my sister is going to castrate me."

"Well then, before she does, might I suggest-"

"_No_."

* * *

><p>Thankfully, Balthazar had paid for the room Gabriel's in, so he has a keycard. Which is good, as it turns out, for Gabriel had apparently discovered the minibar.<p>

"I'm feeling somewhat less than proud of my association with you Novak boys at the moment," Balthazar says as he stands over the unconscious man. He hadn't quite made it to the bed, but at least he's still wearing most of his clothes.

"Just tell me he's still breathing," Cas says wearily as he grabs the ice bucket and heads into the bathroom and over to the sink.

"Alive, if not well," Balthazar calls a moment later. Cas rejoins him, looks down at his brother for a moment. Then he upends the half-full bucket over Gabriel's face.

Once the spluttering and swearing dies down, Cas kicks him- gently- in the ribs.

"Get up, Gabriel. It's Thursday."

"Can't be," Gabriel slurs. "Yesterday was Thursday."

Cas looks immediately at Balthazar, who shrugs and shakes his head a little in response.

"Doesn't matter, we need to go. Get up." He orders, nudging his brother again.

It takes both Cas and Balthazar to get him properly upright, and one of them has to stay close enough for him to grab in case he starts to fall, but he's finally up and moving. They take the elevator and do the Hangover Shuffle through the lobby- thank God it's a holiday, Cas thinks to himself, the reaction from the hotel staff alone is bad enough- and make it to the parking lot without incident.

There, naturally, they run into another snag.

"Where is my car?" Gabriel asks, very conversationally. Cas, shoulder-to-shoulder with him, can feel him tensing.

"Ah, yes, that's right," Balthazar says suddenly, and steps forward and turns to face the brothers. "You," and he points to Cas, "got a call about an hour ago, saying your," Gabriel here, "car was ready to be picked up."

"I got the call?" Cas asks.

"Something happened to my car?" Gabriel snaps darkly. From the way Balthazar leans back, it seems he's finally realized that happy cheery Gabriel is a bit possessive when it comes to his wheels.

"I have the address, and I have a car," Balthazar says, holding up his keys.

"You have that conference," Cas begins.

"What, miss out on this and get stuck paying nine dollars to see the next Hangover sequel? I don't think so."

"I don't like him," Gabriel says as Balthazar heads off. Cas doesn't bother to answer, just grabs his arm and hauls him after his friend.

* * *

><p>The address leads them to a body-and-paint shop, which makes both the Novaks more than a little apprehensive.<p>

"Why did they call me?" Cas asks, not for the first time. Balthazar grimaces and shoots a dark look over his shoulder- Gabriel is sitting behind him and is occasionally drumming on the back of his seat in expression of his displeasure with the situation as a whole.

"From the way he was talking, it sounds like you paid," the teacher says finally.

"Paid for what?" Gabriel demands, leaning forward.

"I don't know, he didn't give too much detail. Speaking of paying," and he looks into the rear view mirror, "how exactly does a college janitor afford a Corvette?"

There's an awkward sort of silence. Cas glances back, meets Gabriel's eyes.

"Michael bought it, and sold it to Gabriel for half-price," he says after a moment, and Balthazar gives a soft 'oh'.

Michael is the Novak family's prodigal son. There is a nine-year gulf between him and the second-oldest, Raphael, and thirteen years between him and Castiel. Michael's solution to this, and to the military career that keeps him away for years at a time, is to give his siblings the paycheck he doesn't really use. Cas is more familiar with his signature than his face.

Anyone who's been around their family for any length of time knows better than to ask about Michael.

Balthazar parks next to the empty, dark building and doesn't quite manage to kill the engine before Gabriel is out of the car. Before he reaches the shop door, it opens and a grizzled man comes out to speak to him. The other two stay in the car.

"It might be wise to ask why they're open on a holiday, but apparently only for you," Balthazar says thoughtfully, and Cas groans. A moment later Gabriel comes back over and slides back into his seat.

"Around back," he says, then leans forward and jabs at Cas with a folded piece of paper. It turns out to be the invoice. Cas skims his eyes over it, focuses briefly on the number circled at the bottom, then refolds it and tucks it away into his pocket.

Once again, they're barely parked before Gabriel is out.

"Is this because it's an expensive new toy, or because it's from Michael?" Balthazar asks as the door slams. Cas shrugs.

"I don't know. Probably both." Whether or not he seems like it, Gabriel is the most family-oriented Novak. He's had the hardest time of them all accepting that Michael is never going to be a part of their lives.

"Also, just out of curiosity, can you even afford this?"

Cas thinks of a week spent in St Louis this summer, and three pictures sold, each fetching six figures.

"If Gabriel asks, it's only a couple hundred," he says, and Balthazar snorts.

"Right, like I'm really going to let myself get sucked into the middle of a Novak Family Drama. He asks, I say what I saw, and I hide under my desk until the shouting's done."

Cas frowns at him but says nothing. It's a wise philosophy, and certain proof that Balthazar knows his family a little too well.

"Well, damn," Balthazar says suddenly, and Cas looks out the window at the car backing out of the shop garage. A moment later he's scrabbling for the door handle, and as soon as he's free, he shoots over to Gabriel's side.

The Corvette, once a simple black, is now a color best described as acid green, with stylized flames on the hood and washing back along the sides, black fading into gold at the end. Gabriel makes a noise like a mouse that's been stepped on.

Balthazar, who had been talking to the garage worker, comes over and stands on Cas' other side. "You've already paid," he says quietly. "And there was an extra thousand in there, so they'd get it done by this morning." He raises his voice, catching Gabriel's attention. "It's safe to drive as is, but it will take a few days to dry completely, so try not to let anything touch it. Just to be sure."

"Thank you, Balthazar," Cas says, and finds he means it. Casual, no-strings-attached sex shouldn't include morning-after chauffeuring and humoring the plastered brother.

"Thank _you_, Castiel, for making a boring conference a bit more interesting," Balthazar answers with a chuckle. He catches Cas' chin with his long fingers, turns his face and gives him a chaste kiss. When Cas says nothing, he leans in again. This time, Cas lets him in, opens his mouth and swipes his tongue against Balthazar's. Then he pulls away, ignoring the disappointed moan.

"Tell me again why we didn't make this a regular thing," Balthazar mutters.

"I don't like sharing," Cas says, and Balthazar gives him a rueful smile.

"That'll do it." He nods a goodbye to Gabriel, gives Cas one last, quick kiss, then turns and heads over to his car.

Cas watches him go, then looks over to his brother. Naturally Gabriel has gotten over his shock and his sulk, and is grinning broadly at him.

"Aww, lookit that," he coos. "Little Cassie got some last night."

"Keys," Cas orders, holding out his hand, and Gabriel scoffs. "You're still drunk, Gabriel. I'm driving."

"What, a guy isn't allowed to tease his brother anymore?" Gabriel smirks. "Besides, you have no idea how to handle anything with more horsepower than a golf cart."

"I haven't had anything to drink in twelve hours, at least. And I'll learn." When Gabriel lifts his eyebrows in clear challenge, Cas clears his throat and glances briefly away, feeling his face warming. "Balthazar likes his partners with loosened inhibitions, not bordering on comatose. Keys."

"Contrary to whatever impression I may give you, I don't actually want any details about your sex life," Gabriel tells him. There's a sharp bang from the shop, and both brothers look over to find the grizzled man staring at them.

Gabriel gives Cas a knowing grin and tosses him the keys, circles to the Corvette's passenger side and gets in. Cas looks at the man, tries to think of something reassuring to say, then gives up and gets in the car.

"I hate you sometimes," he tells Gabriel solemnly, and the blond laughs.

"Wouldn't be doing my job right if you didn't," he shoots back. For that, Cas floors it as soon as he's shifted out of park.

It takes about five minutes for Gabriel to peel himself off the upholstery.

* * *

><p>The highway is empty, and the weather is decent, so Castiel flies down the road. He's already decided he likes this car too much to drive it ever again, and so makes this one chance worth it.<p>

"He has a conference on Thanksgiving?" Gabriel asks randomly, starting the only conversation of the trip.

"Every year," Cas confirms. After a moment, the two brothers exchange a knowing look.

"Theater majors," Gabriel scoffs, and goes back to looking out the window.

* * *

><p>Rachel blames Gabriel for the whole thing, of course, while Raphael just looks at them like they're both idiots, which is rather closer to the truth.<p>

They figure out the highlights of their trip when Cas gets his next credit card statement. Gabriel goes white for a moment when he sees how much Cas paid to repaint his car, but he follows Cas' example and says nothing about it.

That Christmas, Gabriel's car gets another paint job. It stays the eye-catching green, but loses the flames.

Cas never does drive it again.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: This particular little ficlet was written for a friend, who landed in the hospital after an accident. She requested a sick-Cas-nursemaid-Dean fic. I personally can't see either of them playing those roles, and so there was generous application of some liberal interpretation, but as it turns out that was the idea behind her request.

Grouchy!Cas is based on yours truly, who according to very reliable sources happens to be the _worst patient ever_.

Set the winter after they meet, so about six months after Parallax begins.

* * *

><p>The first sign, which Dean doesn't realize until later, was the thing with the thermostat.<p>

It's a classic November day, cold and grey and dreary and damp. Dean, dragged reluctantly out of bed by repeated calls from Bobby who has absolutely no respect for days off, notices the cold but doesn't bother trying to do anything about it. He's tossing back the last of his coffee and moving towards the door when he catches sight of Cas, who is shuffling down the short hallway leading to the bedrooms, wrapped head-to-toe in his thick comforter. He has the blanket pulled up to his nose and down over his hair, so all Dean can clearly see of him is narrowed blue eyes.

He stops halfway down the hallway and turns to stare accusingly at the thermostat on the wall. After a moment, and a lot of shifting, he frees one hand and starts fiddling with the controls.

"Hey, Cas, you all right?" Dean asks. Cas wakes up slowly and reluctantly, and Dean's known only a very small number of things that can get him out of bed and moving around before he's damn well ready to be. For his concern, Dean gets an extremely unfriendly glare before Cas turns and shuffles back towards the bedroom.

Dean looks down at Lady who has been following him around in the hopes of getting fed. She provides no enlightening insight, laser-focused as she is on the pop tart in his hand. He shrugs it off, accepting it as a part of Cas' usual morning charm, and heads out.

* * *

><p>He comes home to the Sahara.<p>

"Fuckin' hell, Cas!" he snaps, yanking his coat off as he heads over to the thermostat. Once he's turned it down to something slightly lower than the surface-of-the-sun setting, he looks around and finally notices the complete lack of Cas in any of the normal places. The computer is on, a parade of tasteful and conservative pictures that came standard on the computer marching across the monitor- Dean has no doubt Cas hasn't changed the screensaver once since getting the computer, it's just not a Cas thing to do. The TV is off, the couch is empty. And Lady hadn't come rushing to greet him, he sees suddenly, bouncing and dancing and whining like it's been years since last they met when it fact it's barely been two hours. Annoyance still present but grudgingly taking a back seat to concern, Dean heads back to the bedroom.

There's a moment of real, genuine worry when he doesn't find Cas there, until he hears the soft rhythmic thumping, realizes the bed has been stripped of blankets and pillows. He circles around the bed warily and finds Cas lying on the floor. Or rather, he finds a vaguely human-shaped lump amidst a nest of blankets and pillows- arranged, Dean notices, over the heating vent. Lady has tucked herself into the mess, her wagging tail impacting the wall being the origin of the thumping noise.

"Cas?" he calls out, approaching the blanket nest with caution, sidling sideways towards it as though he's afraid the person within will turn out not to be Cas, but in fact the dreaded Swamp-Blanket Thing.

"What?" the lump says in reply, shifting around just a bit, and Dean winces. On a good day, Cas sounds like his throat is lined with sandpaper. This clearly isn't a good day. This time, he sounds like how Dean imagines the Washington head at Rushmore would, if it could speak.

"You sick?" Dean asks, which he freely admits is an extremely stupid question. He can feel the glare piercing straight through the blankets. "Why didn't you say something?"

"Go away, Dean."

"C'mon, Cas, this isn't actually helping," he tries, picking carefully at the corner of one blanket. The pile ripples and shifts and the corner is yanked back, disappearing into the safety of the nest.

"_Go away, Dean_," Cas growls again, and there's real menace in his tone now.

Dean goes, but not very far.

* * *

><p>As the Winchester boys had basically raised themselves, Dean is far and away no stranger to the various illnesses of winter. The big problem here is the difference in patient temperament- Sam is the sort who will deny being sick, and go about his day as normal, even if it means taking a quick break every five minutes so he can throw up in the corner. If forced to admit to being somewhat less than perfectly healthy, he's the stoic martyr, asking only for a basin and a bottle of water near his bed before sending his wannabe caretaker away.<p>

Cas, it seems, has the same general idea but a radically different approach.

Dean takes a moment to regroup, to brace himself. This isn't the normal Cas, he tells himself, the Cas who is cool and controlled and rational. This is a sick and miserable Cas who has reverted to the maturity level of a six-year-old and the hostility level of a tiger with a toothache.

Thus prepared, he heads downstairs to pick up some supplies, then takes his life into his own hands and heads back into the bedroom.

"All right, Cas, up and at 'em," he says cheerfully as he walks in.

Cas' answer is something he no doubt picked up from Dean himself. Not the least bit put out, Dean reaches down and yanks away the first blanket he gets a good grip on.

"Damn it, Dean, don't!" Cas says, whines really, and if Dean needed any more proof that Cas was sick that would've done it. "I'm _cold_."

"You think you're cold," Dean corrects him, picking up a pillow and uncovering a socked foot. "But you're baking yourself in there."

He keeps at it, wondering where the hell Cas had even found all these blankets, until nothing is left except the man himself, huddled under the comforter and shivering. He curls into a ball, tucked as small as he can get, holding onto his last blanket with a death grip. At that sight, Dean feels like a special breed of asshole, and decides to let Cas keep the comforter. He sits down beside the huddled man, back against the wall.

"Give it a minute to get some air circulating," he says, getting the first aid kit he'd brought up from his car and fishing the thermometer out of it. To look at Cas' medicine cabinet, you'd think any sort of ill health was something that only happened to other people. He hadn't even had any aspirin until Dean got it for himself.

"Hate you," Cas says, words somewhat undermined by his pressing himself against Dean's leg in search of warmth. He's radiating heat like a blast furnace and shivering, although not badly enough for Dean to be getting really worried. 'Miserable' just about nails it, he thinks.

"Stop talking. It hurts just listening to you." All because he's officially a pansy doesn't mean he has to act like it- or, God forbid, let Cas figure it out. He leans forward a bit and picks up the bottle of water, dangles it in front of Cas' face. "Drink this and I'll leave you alone."

Cas squirms around a bit, rests his chin on Dean's hip and stares narrow-eyed at the bottle as if it has offended him. Dean forces himself to not notice Cas' hot breath on his thigh, reminding himself that Cas isn't up to anything right now and Dean himself will undoubtedly catch whatever Cas has got, although he won't be nearly as big a pain about it.

There's a bit more squirming, during which an elbow digs directly into Dean's solar plexus and no way that was an accident, before Cas manages to achieve something that almost qualifies as 'upright', although not if Dean moves so much as an inch. He takes the water and fumbles the lid off, takes a single sip that probably gets all of four molecules of water in him, and peers sideways up at Dean expectantly.

"All of it, smartass," Dean grunts, since Cas is still putting pressure on important internal organs that, as it turns out, aren't keen on being squashed. If Cas' goal is to make Dean as miserable as he is, he'll be pleased to know it's working.

Still, after a little while, Cas apparently realizes that Dean only has so much patience and shifts in installments to a more comfortable position, less draped over Dean and more leaning against him. He takes the thermometer away when Dean offers it to him, reluctantly sticks it in his mouth when Dean glares at him. He makes a face at the temperature it registers and tosses it aside without letting Dean see it, then sighs and settles back against Dean more comfortably, pulling his blanket back up around him.

Dean can't tell if Cas' sudden urge to cuddle is apology and forgiveness both or simply the fever robbing him of the strength to move. However, as appealing as being Cas' pillow sometimes is- depending on the circumstances- he's hungry, and getting hot, and no way is he getting trapped here for however long Cas plans on sleeping.

"Back to bed, Cas," he says, shifting gently. Cas groans and leans harder against him, doing his level best to avoid moving.

It takes Dean the better part of twenty minutes to relocate Cas to the bed, a task which includes chasing away Lady who had been sitting dead-center on the mattress as though it were her own private kingdom. He lets Cas have the comforter, and gives him another, lightweight blanket, and leaves the half-empty bottle of water on the bedside table with the stern order to drink all of it.

He comes in to check on Cas every so often, mostly ignored and occasionally grumbled at. Lady stays where she is, parked on Cas' feet, and gives Dean a smug-dog look every time Cas orders him out.

Dean sleeps on the couch that night, mostly because he has no desire to deal with that. He wakes up the next morning fever-free, and Cas looking a little shaky but a lot better, and somewhat apologetic. Dean keeps all comments to himself about what a pain in the ass Cas is when he's sick, fairly confident he won't be doing himself any favors.

The next day, however, he starts a subtle campaign, and the medicine cabinet slowly fills up. An ounce of prevention, and all that.


End file.
